His Hair
by TimePasses
Summary: Ron's hair is in his eyes. They're blocking Hermione's view.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: My initials are NOT J.K.R.

His Hair

His hair, as gorgeous as it is, does not belong there- in front of his eyes. Nothing belongs there. There isn't a single thing in the world beautiful enough to conceal those sparkling, sea-glass-blue eyes.

My hand twitches to reach out and push the hair back, out of his eyes. I can't do that, though. Simply can't.

So I glare at him instead, as if looking at him for long enough will get rid of my problem. Not that I don't immensely enjoy looking at him. Because I do.

He's completely oblivious, just sitting there scribbling on a piece of parchment. The scratching of his quill and the occasional pop of the fire are the only sounds in the room. It's overbearing, the silence. Awkward.

"What are you writing?" I finally ask softly, unable to bear the quiet for another second.

"Potions homework. Due tomorrow," he mumbled, not looking up. I'm suddenly afraid that I'll forget what his eyes look like. I haven't seen them in so long, it seems.

"Today," I correct him after glancing at the clock, which reads half-past twelve.

"Bloody hell," he mumbles, reading the clock as well before turning back to his work and writing twice as fast.

We lapse back into silence. And his hair is still blocking my view of his eyes.

I watch, mesmerized, as the muscles of his forearms flex with the movements of his speedy writing. The urge to reach out and run a finger down his arm is unbelievably hard to resist. But I do resist. Because I could never do something so bold.

I have to wonder, though…how would he react? I have to wonder if he'd say anything at all, or simply leave. Or respond…differently.

I really should know how he would react. For the sake of science. It's necessary to have the knowledge of human reactions. So I should find out, shouldn't I?

Certainly, I should. And the only way to find out is to conduct an…experiment. For the sake of science.

I feel a flutter in my stomach as I reach out slowly, my fingertips inching ever closer to him. His arm is warm compared to my hand. I slide the very tip of my index finger from the inside of his elbow to the palm of his hand.

His finger gives a twitch at the sensation, and his eyes flicker up to meet mine. Finally.

His crystal eyes are wide as he stares at me. _No reaction. Blank stare. _I make a mental note to write down that piece of scientific data later. Since I'm conducting a scientific experiment.

We simply stare at each other for a moment, the fire crackling in protest as it began to dim. "'Mione," Ron choked out finally. "What-why did you…" he trailed off, staring at me.

He swallows hard-I can hear it. His eyes are shaded slightly by that pesky hair of his. Even as he stares at me, my view of his eyes is not clear enough. That is a problem.

And, logically, when you have a fixable problem, you should fix it. So I fix my problem.

I can see my hand trembling as I lift it, unnaturally slowly, toward his face. His eyes stay locked on my own as he sucks in a shaky breath. He's like a confused child as he sits completely still, watching me, wide-eyed.

I sweep his soft hair away from his eyes in one swift movement, and, finally, those deep blue eyes are right in front of me, brighter than I remembered.

And now I can't breathe. And I can't speak, because I forget how the words go. How the alphabet goes. I forget everything I've ever learned or said or thought or heard. All because of a pair of sapphires decided to hold my gaze for too long. It's scary, really, the power his eyes have over me.

I barely notice that the space between us is shrinking until I feel his breath on my face. I pause then, hesitant. My gaze shifts for the first time in quite a while, to rest on his mouth. His lips are parted slightly as he takes deep, anticipating breaths.

"Ron," I whisper, so quietly I'm not sure he'll be able to hear me, despite our unbearable closeness. The insecurity is clear in my eyes, I'm sure of it. I've been unusually bold tonight-overestimating my power to keep my emotions under control. "Sorry," I mumble finally, leaning away from him slowly, all of my confidence suddenly evaporated.

But I don't move much before his hand catches the back of my neck, refusing to let me put any more distance between us. Before I can do so much as blink, his lips cover mine, moving against my mouth frantically, as if he's worried he's running out of time…as if he truly believes I'm about to push him away.

My hands, on their own accord, reach up to wind around the back of his neck as his fingers become tangled in my hair. And now I realize that it's not his eyes that have an unreasonable power over me- it's just _him. _Because his eyes are not visible to me at the moment, and yet I'm sure he has complete control over me.

I pull away from him, catching my breath, and I look up to see that he is staring at me in bewilderment. "'Mione…" he breathes, his hand coming up to lightly stroke my face.

"Hmmmm?" I murmur in question.

"Do you have any idea…how much _power_ you have over me? It's bloody scary, is what it is," he decides as he pulls me toward him for another kiss.

My scientific findings: great minds think alike.

RWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRWRW

I'm not really sure if I like how it turned out. Please review and tell me what I did wrong, what I did well…tell me anything!

I'm planning to write this chapter from Ron's point of view, if enough people are interested in reading it. Please let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine.

His Hair-Ron's POV

She's staring at me. I can't think of any possible reason _why_ she would want to stare at me, but she is. I can feel it.

And the room is suddenly too hot. And she's too close to me. Her knee is so near my hand. I could just reach out…No, actually, I couldn't. What a stupid git I'd look like if I were to do something so bold.

I can smell her. Her hair. It's a scent so delicious, I'm tempted to just lean over and bury my face in her hair. What paradise that would be. But, no, I'm not that impulsive a person. So I still sit here, next to her, trying to finish this bloody homework that crooked-nosed oaf assigned.

My hair is long enough to conceal my eyes from her view. And thank Merlin for that. If it weren't, she would be able to see how often my eyes stray from the parchment I write nonsense on, to rest on her.

The firelight hits in a slant across her face, casting half of it in an otherworldly glow. Her hair absorbs the light, turning the strands a shimmering golden color. She's beautiful.

And she's still staring at me. The silence is…excruciating. Just as I'm about to break it, she speaks softly:

"What are you writing?" she asks softly.

"Potions homework," I mutter, keeping my eyes downcast. "Due tomorrow."

"Today," she claims, her tone slightly apologetic. I follow her gaze to the clock on the wall. Half-past twelve. "Bloody hell." It slips out. I didn't mean to swear, it's bound to make her mad, after all. I brace myself for the scolding that's sure to come, writing faster even as my mind is far, far away from potions.

Silence from her. No yelling or screaming, no lecture on how offending curse words can be to those around us. I glance up at her face while still writing, discerning whether or not she was angry. She's staring at my arm, awed. Her eyes are completely glued to my arm. So confusing.

I turn my gaze back to my work, only to realize that I've written the same exact sentence about three times. I ignore it, continuing on with the meaningless essay.

I feel something, suddenly, something brushing lightly against my arm, teasing at the skin inside my wrist. It's her. Her finger. I suppress a shiver, but my finger twitches. I look up at her, awed and bewildered and longing for her to do that again.

"'Mione," I manage to push out of my mouth. "What-why did you…" I can't even form a bloody coherent sentence around her. I swallow hard, trying to expel that dry feeling in my throat. She's looking in the general direction of my eyes, but my hair still casts a shadow over them, and I'm grateful. I don't want to even consider how much power she would possess over me if she looked straight in my eyes. If I was looking straight in _her_ eyes.

Her hand. It's moving toward me. It's going straight for that necessary curtain of hair. Her fingertips brush my forehead slightly as her hand pushes the hair out of my eyes. She's looking straight at me now. I'm sure she's doing it on purpose-enchanting me like this. I'm not so sure why, though.

Hermione's leaning toward me now, her face inching closer and closer to mine, torturing me with her gaze. "Ron," she whispers, and I don't think anyone's voice has ever sounded so good. I'm faintly aware of the sound of the air whooshing out of her lungs just before the sweet smell of her breath hits me. It's enticing-the scent of strawberries and vanilla. Incredibly sweet and unintentionally alluring.

She's coming closer and closer and closer and I know what she's about to do and I'm practically hyperventilating. But then she stops. I stare at her, ready to get angry, when I see the insecurity. It's so painfully clear in her face.

"Sorry," she whispers as she pulls away from me. _Away _from me. And that's unacceptable. The insecurity in her eyes remains as she shifts her gaze to the fireplace. I'll change that.

Without stopping to think, my hand snatches the back of her neck as I pull her toward me, bending my head and placing my lips on hers. I realize what I'm doing now, and I'm glad. Glad that I finally got up the courage to do it. But she's sure to get mad and push me away. Maybe even slap me. So I kiss her hard and fast, memorizing the taste of her, the way her mouth feels against mine.

She's kissing me back. Bloody hell, she's _kissing me back_. Hermione Granger is kissing me back. Her hands are on the back of my neck. I suppress a shiver as her fingers stroke the back of my neck steadily. I hesitate before moving my hands to her hair. Her hair just seems so…_sacred_, in a way. It's just so incredibly…her. And it's soft as it slips through my fingers over and over again, and she's still kissing me, and I'm not sure why.

In that moment, I am absolutely positive of one thing: I would do anything and everything for this girl. She pulls away reluctantly, breathing heavily. "'Mione," I manage to push out of my empty lungs. I don't even try to resist the urge to run my hand along her delicate face.

"Hmmm?" she hums in response, staring up at me.

"Do you have any idea…"I hesitate, not sure if I'll scare her. "How much _power_ you have over me? It's bloody scary, is what it is." I don't even hear myself say the last sentence, for I'm lost in her eyes. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I'm kissing her again. And I decide that I like this newfound power of Hermione's. Love it, even.

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